


The Original Journal of Dr Watson

by Canary221



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, During Canon, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, F/M, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28570449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canary221/pseuds/Canary221
Summary: I leave it here in my testament, that this closed wooden box should only be opened at least 100 (Hundred) years after my death. I sincerely beg to those who are today with my most precious belongings, to respect what was asked. In this box are original journal written by me about my life and work alongside Mr. Sherlock Holmes. And that some of the cases have been scandalous, and for the sake of everyone involved in some of these stories, it is necessary that they remain confidential until better times.(You can imagine any Johnlock that you prefer)
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & Victor Trevor, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, new here (writing here on Ao3), I usually only write original stories, but I decided to try a fanfiction for the first time (Ready to invade the privacy of the characters!)  
> Before starting, it is necessary to clarify some things, if you have the patience to read:  
> 1st .: English is not my first language. So I can't always understand everything I read in English, and sometimes I use the translator - which is not always really good -, in that case I will use my own translated books, which unfortunately are not 100% compatible translations.  
> 2nd.: This story is totally mine, based on theories and analysis I read, both from some scholars and from the fans themselves, thanks to Tumblr. Most read directly from the nekosmuse. But I say with guarantee that what I will write here are my own interpretations, both of the book and the analyzes. Those are my visions, much of it is not just my interpretations of the subtext of the stories, but invented things that I wanted to insert, and my own theories. 
> 
> 3°.: For better clarification, some parts will be just "copy and paste", and maybe rewritten and often, showing a new perspective. So imagine that there are always two versions of the stories, the one written in the original journal and the one sent to Strands. But the equal parts represent that not all said, it was in fact a lie. After all, the best way to lie is to tell the truth. (Is that how is said?).  
> 4: I'm still reading the books, because books where I live are VERY EXPENSIVE. So if you forget something, I'll add it later. Most of what I’m planning for the story is while I read (I don’t deny that I sometimes get confused as what I’ve actually read or imagined) I'm trying my best.  
> 5°.: I swear that this chapter will only be an introduction and I intend to show their relationship evolving. So be patient, I swear the other stories will be more developed, and will have more details. As the relationship evolves more will be revealed. As I said, many can differ from Canon.  
> 6°.: Sorry that it took a long time, but better explain it first, I believe I didn't forget to say anything.  
> If you've made it this far, read this short, brief introduction. And forgiveness for any confusion with my English (if anyone wants to be beta too)
> 
> Ps: I am following the Baring-Gould's Chronological order 
> 
> Good Reading, Enjoy.

I leave it here in my testament, that this closed wooden box should only be opened at least 100 (Hundred) years after my death. I sincerely beg to those who are today with my most precious belongings, to respect what was asked. In this box are original journal written by me about my life and work alongside Mr. Sherlock Holmes. And that some of the cases have been scandalous, and for the sake of everyone involved in some of these stories, it is necessary that they remain confidential until better times.

My dear Mary, please trust you with everything that is this box, that you will find in your heart a place that can forgive what has been done and said. And keep with your life what is here. I still leave you, with much consideration to you, my property, and a small inheritance.

I never stopped thinking about you.  
John H. Watson

...  
1881 Journal

" In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and l proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before I could join it, the second Afghan war had broken out. On landing at Bombay, I learned that my corps had advanced through the passes, and was already deep in the enemy’s country. I followed, however, with many other officers who were in the same situation as myself, and succeeded in reaching Candahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and at once entered upon my new duties.The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. [...] Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I had undergone, I was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to the base hospital at Peshawar. Here I rallied, and had already improved so far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask a little upon the verandah, when I was struck down by enteric fever, that curse of our Indian possessions. For months my life was despaired of, and when at last I came to myself and became convalescent, I was so weak and emaciated that a medical board determined that not a day should be lost in sending me back to England. [...]  
On the very day that I had come to this conclusion, I was standing at the Criterion Bar, when some one tapped me on the shoulder, and turning round I recognized young Stamford, who had been a dresser under me at Bart’s. [...] I gave him a short sketch of my adventures,  
and had hardly concluded it by the time that we reached our destination. “Poor devil!” he said, commiseratingly, after he had listened to my misfortunes. “What are you up to now?” “Looking for lodgings,” I answered. “Trying to solve the problem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price.” “That’s a strange thing,” remarked my companion; “you are the second man to-day that has used that expression to me.”  
“And who was the first?” I asked."

"Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said  
Stamford, introducing us.

…

We met next day as he had arranged, and inspected the rooms at No. 221B, Baker Street, of which he had spoken at our meeting. They consisted of a couple of comfortable bed-rooms and a single large airy sitting-room, cheerfully furnished, and illuminated by two broad windows. So desirable in every way were the apartments, and so moderate did the terms seem when divided between us, that the bargain was concluded upon  
the spot, and we at once entered into possession. That very evening I moved my things round from the hotel, and on the following morning Sherlock Holmes followed me with several boxes and portmanteaus. For a day or two we were busily employed in unpacking and laying out our property to the best advantage. Our things fit together quite well.

That done, we gradually began to settle down and to accommodate ourselves to our new surroundings. Holmes was certainly not a difficult man to live with. He was quiet in his ways, and his habits were regular. It was rare for him to be up after ten at night, and he had invariably breakfasted and gone out before I rose in the morning. Sometimes he spent his day at the chemical laboratory, sometimes in the dissecting-rooms, and occasionally in long walks, which appeared to take him into the lowest portions of the City. Nothing could exceed his energy when the working fit was upon him; but now and again a reaction would seize him, and for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from morning to night. 

Written with a pencil: thinking back, about thoses humors, what was passing under that big brain, may has been a depression...

On others occasions I have noticed such a dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes, that I might have suspected him of being addicted to the use of some narcotic, had not the temperance and cleanliness of his whole life forbidden such a notion.

As the weeks went by, my interest in him and my curiosity as to his aims in life, gradually deepened and increased. His very person and appearance were such as to strike the attention of the most casual observer. In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing, save during those intervals of torpor to which I have alluded; and his thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air of alertness and decision. His chin, too, had the prominence and squareness which mark the man of determination. His hands were invariably blotted with ink and stained with chemicals, yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe when I watched him manipulating his fragile philosophical instruments.

The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody, when I confess how much this man stimulated my curiosity, It was captivating my attention and attracted me in a way I will never understand... and how often I endeavoured to break through the reticence which he showed on all that concerned himself. I caught myself observing many times, so intently, almost inappropriately ... Trying not to think about everything about him. How I wanted to discover and know more about everything about him.

Before pronouncing judgment, however, be it remembered, how objectless was my life, and how little there was to engage my attention… This incredible man… 

I told myself many times that I was curious about his personality, his character, and his work. How many times have I hoped it was just that.

[...]

During the first week or so we had no callers, and I had begun to think that my companion was as friendless a man as I was myself. Presently, however, I found that he had many acquaintances, and those in the most different classes of society.

[...]  
I have read Poe's own Detective Dupin… I am not a man obtuse to my own (shameful) nature and to the hiding places of words and their most secret meanings. These two men, who lived together, with the shutters closed, no visitors were received at their rooms, just the two of them…

"It is simple enough as you explain it," I said, smiling. "You remind me of Edgar Allen Poe's Dupin. I had no idea that such individuals did exist outside of stories."  
Sherlock Holmes rose and lit his pipe. "No doubt you think that you are complimenting me in comparing me to Dupin," he observed. "Now, in my opinion, Dupin was a very inferior fellow. That trick of his of breaking in on his friends''  
thoughts with an apropos remark after a quarter of an hour's silence is really very showy and superficial. He had some analytical genius, no doubt; but he was by no means such a phenomenon as Poe appeared to imagine. Perhaps more similar than he thought (that I expected)

…  
Indeed, was like watching Dupin, but better, and more exciting than I could ever imagined.

[...]  
He hustled on his overcoat, and bustled about in a way that showed that an energetic fit had superseded the apathetic one.  
"Get your hat," he said.  
"You wish me to come?"  
"Yes, if you have nothing better to do." (he was right) A minute later we were both in a hansom, driving furiously for the Brixton Road.  
It was a foggy, cloudy morning, and a duncoloured veil hung over the house-tops, looking like the reflection of the mud-coloured streets beneath. My companion was in the best of spirits, and prattled away about Cremona fiddles, and the difference between a Stradivarius and an Amati. As for myself, I was silent, for the dull weather and the melancholy business upon which we were engaged, depressed my spirits.

[...]

"Didn't I tell you so when we started?" cried Sherlock Holmes with a laugh. "That's the result of all our Study in Scarlet: to get them a testimonial!"  
"Never mind," I answered, "I have all the facts in my journal, and the public shall know them. In the meantime you must make yourself contented by the consciousness of success, like the Roma miser --  
"`Populus me sibilat, at mihi plaudo  
Ipse domi simul ac nummos contemplate in ark.'"

He made me promise do not publish anything, at least not before five years. I had to rewrite it anyway. No editor could see what I actually have written in my personal journal.


	2. 1882-1883

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The remaining parts of Dr Watson's Original Journal - 1882-1883

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks happyeverafter72 for helping with the beta 
> 
> I still feel embarrassed to write a fanfiction, I'm doing my best, so hope you guys like :)

I have officially decided, after a long conversation, to allow the whole truth to be told one day. I would hate to know that everything they knew about us was a lie. I hope for better times in the future. And it is with great courage that I leave everything recorded. My original Journal, my first manuscripts and everything. I've been reading and rereading, my own words never published. And when necessary, making notes so that everything is well understood, if it is to be read; so everything in this box, everything is totally the purest and only truth. I fear that people may be extremely offended, even horrified. But there is no shame on my part for having written everything I wrote. If nobody remembers us after our deaths, and everything about Mr. Sherlock Holmes, his deductions and his works have been forgotten in the future, everything here dies with us. But if not here is the truth:

\----

[ The remaining parts of Dr Watson's Original Journal - 1882-1883 ]

NOTE: The reader must have noticed that there are several lapses of time during the stories, and not much has ever been said. Here are the most heartfelt (and shocking) events which occurred in the short period of two years, the first years in which I lived alongside Mr. Holmes. 

[…]

After the first case, our companionship started to grow. I was back to my occupation as a doctor, in my own clinic, not far away from Baker Street, while my colleague continued with his cases, much smaller than that of Jefferson Hope, assisting Yard regularly.  
He invited me many times to join him, and go to the morgue, to offer my medical opinion. I was very happy to help as I could.   
He continued to fascinate me with his deductive skills, and he enchanted me with the most impressive of the criminal cases that occurred.

Ttwo days ago, I decided to go for a walk, and Holmes asked if he could join me. So both of us, passed the evening walking, side by side, my companion making some observations about some people around us, I tried my best to follow along and try to see the details myself, failing miserably, I didn't say a word, just listening and watching him. It even looked like magic.

[...]

After living with Mr. Holmes for almost a year already, I can almost say that we are friends. I am usually introduced as a "colleague" when I join him on cases, at the Yard or when a client come to Baker Street.   
I was very grateful to be able to participate, and to be able to hear the clients and their stories. Some seemed so simple and turned out to have remarkable twists, some were much simpler. I saw my colleague get frustrated with many of them, but he was determined to help his clients.

One day I was feeling some pain in my leg, and decided I needed to relax. I took advantage of the fact that the clinic was calmer, and looked for a Turkish bath, I looked around for some time, consulting the address book, and Holmes seemed to notice.  
"I know one place, if you would like to join me, at the end of the week," he said.  
I accepted.   
We went together, took a taxi, stopped a few minutes later, and continued walking., I was not very familiar with the street, not that it was in any way questionable. We entered a discreet building, and were allowed to enter after identifying ourselves. It was very inviting and regular. We stayed in a corner, and it helped a lot with my pain.

I had not noticed anything particular in the bath. Weeks later, while smoking in front of the fire, I went back to talking about the Turkish baths.  
"The turkish bath…" I started   
"If you want to look for another place, no problem," he said.  
"There is no problem," I replied confused, and Holmes looked uneasy. "I would ask if you would like to go together again, it was really good for my leg," I explained.  
He nodded.   
"Any time."

When we decided to go again, I came back to feeling uneasy. And I decided I should look around a little. I was very careful, I didn't want to be indiscreet with my curiosity. Not all Turkish baths are like that, but some are open to inverts. I know that they tend to be very discreet so as not to attract the attention of those who are not. Perhaps I noticed the slight tendency of the place, there were private rooms, and this caught my attention.  
"Is something wrong, my dear fellow?" Holmes asked. He had his eyes closed, and I was surprised that he had noticed my unease.  
"There is a lot of noise here, maybe something more quiet would be more pleasant. There are private rooms…"   
Holmes just nodded again, and we headed for the reception, where we were sent to a private room.   
They were divided rooms with thin walls, curtains served as doors. We entered, and sat down again. My friend remained silent. At times I had the feeling that he was observing me.  
When going to the private rooms, I did not fail to notice the patrons around us. I did not mention anything, and acted as if I had seen nothing strange.

Our friendship was growing. I continued to see him coming and going in disguise, many times thinking that a stranger had invaded our rooms, him scaring me by taking his disguises off and laughing at my face. I would hear him playing his violin at midnight... not playing, he was torturing the instrument. We had our walks together, and sometimes we went arm in arm. We had breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. We talked about various things in front of the fireplace, he told me how he was helping Scotland Yard, and we discussed the importance of the earth revolving around the sun! Almost convincing myself that it was not important who revolved around who.   
Unfortunately, I had to observe several dark moments. Somber silences when he didn't speak for days, sat in his chair with his pipe without saying anything , or stuck in our rooms without leaving. I believed many times that he was going to opium houses, but I never questioned his habits. I had my own addictions to gambling, but I'm avoiding it as much I can! 

[...]

One day in the afternoon, when I was returning from my clinic, I met a young man at our door. Mrs. Hudson informed me that he insisted on waiting.  
I approached, imagining that he was waiting for my colleague.  
"Hello, sir, how do you do? Are you waiting for Mr. Holmes?"   
"I'm sorry for the intrusion, I'm waiting for him. Any chance of knowing when he will return?"  
"Unfortunately not, but you can wait inside." I allowed him in, and he sat on the sofa. He was a tall young man, with brown hair covered in a tall gray hat. His suit looked frayed, but it was good. He had a youthful and delicate face. A very handsome young man.  
It took my friend about two hours to return. Upon entering he greeted me, but stopped when he noticed the client waiting for him. The young man. quickly got up to introduce himself, being ignored.  
"My dear fellow, if you don't mind, could you leave for a few minutes?" Holmes asked me.   
– I replied that there was no problem, and I retired to my room on the second floor.   
I joined my colleague again for dinner, when Mrs. Hudson brought the food. I waited for him to tell me what it was about, but he said nothing. And then he retired to his own room.

…

It had been three days since the client had appeared, and Holmes had said nothing to me about the case or the client. I also asked nothing, and we proceeded normally as if the event had not occurred.  
Then when I came back from my clinic one day, I found the client coming down the stairs. He gave a nod, and came down quickly. I went up to find my colleague next to the fireplace, burning some papers.  
"Good afternoon, Holmes."  
"Good afternoon, my friend Watson." He stood up after the last paper had burned completely. "How about a walk?"  
I was a little tired, but I accepted the proposal. We went walking, again in complete silence, arm in arm. My friend said nothing about the client again.

[...]

The most extraordinary thing that could have occured happened two weeks after that strange customer, who for some reason remained in my mind for days. I didn't even know his name. But there was something that had made me curious.  
I didn't want to be impertinent or inconvenient and question my colleague. He always seemed reserved, and only said something when he wanted to.

We were both sitting at the table for afternoon tea when Mrs. Hudson came in with a paper in her hands.  
"Mr. Holmes, he came back and insisted to give this to you," she said, handing over the paper.   
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.That is no problem."  
"I said you weren't at home, but he insisted."  
"You did what you could, thank you."He smiled to calm her down and she left.  
We continued to eat, and I couldn't help my curiosity to see what it was about.  
"It is an invitation to a play. I must tell you that it is a small theater, nothing fabulous, my dear friend." He handed me the invitation. "If youI want to go, I don't object."  
"Don't you want to go?" I asked.   
"No, say that I'm busy."   
My curiosity overcame me. Decided, I took a cab and left for the theater. It was in fact nothing fabulous, and I had my doubts about it being a respectable place. I entered, and found that my seat was in the first row. It was a simple performance, an almost comic version of Romeo and Juliet. I was disappointed, but I recognized Romeo as being the client of several weeks ago.  
He seemed to recognize me, and I was invited to the dressing room.  
"Dr. Watson, right?" He held out his hand to greet me.   
"Must say sorry, but I didn't get your name."  
"Ronald. Mr. Ronald." He smiled.   
"I'm sorry, Holmes was too busy with a case to come." I could see that not even he believed the lie.  
"Our performances last until the end of the week, if I can convince him to come. Thank you for coming I hope you enjoyed it, Dr. Watson."  
"It was fascinating," I answered to be polite.  
When I returned, my friend had already retired to his room, and I did the same. The next morning, he asked me about the play.  
"It was mediocre!" I cried.   
He laughed softly. I ended up not saying about the second invitation. He asked me to go with him to the morgue to see a newly arrived body, a possible murder!   
We returned at dusk, and were surprised by Mr. Ronald at the door of Baker Street.   
"Holmes…," he started, but was interrupted brutally by my friend.  
"I insist you leave, please, and do not appear at my door again!"  
He entered our rooms, I was left astonished outside. Mr. Ronald gave me the invitation and left quickly. I entered 221b, taking the seventeen steps to our rooms.  
"I won't stop you from doing anything, but kindly throw the invitation away," Holmes said, lighting his pipe.  
I approached the fireplace and put the invitation on the fire.   
There was a pea in my shoe. It would be the last day they were performing, and I was curious to find out whether anything would be different, what was important about the client, and what was the matter with my friend. I informed Holmes after dinner that I was going to my club to play. Hejust said to take care of the money, to not put our rent in debt. It only happened once by carelessness of my own.

I went quickly to the theater, arriving in time for the play. I watched everything again and there was nothing new in the performances. Again Mr. Ronald called for a conversation after the play.  
"I believe that Mr. Holmes did not wish to come at all. Sorry for the scene earlier."   
"Cases are occupying his time," I answered.  
He nodded, turning to open a drawer on the dressing table where he took out a folded piece of paper.  
"Holmes used to perform with us here," he said.   
He handed me the paper, and he said good night. I went out to get a cab. I was curious about the paper, keeping it in my coat. There were many things I did not know about my colleague, and I had many doubts about him. This was a great discovery. All the talent for acting and disguises had come from somewhere.

When I arrived my friend was smoking in the sitting room, and I feared he knew I had been to the play. Despite having burned an invitation, I still had another one.  
"Did you lose too much money?"   
"I almost lost my watch chain!" I said. He laughed at this. "Well, I will retire to my room. Have a good night Holmes."  
"You too, dear friend" 

Back in my room, I was dying to open the paper that was handed to me. I lit a candle, and opened the small poster. It was an illustration of a play, performed some six years ago. A beautiful illustration, it had written 'Romeo & Juliet' and below in an oval frame the drawing of a beautiful young lady. Obviously the illustration of the actress who played Juliet.   
I needed some time to analyze the image, there was something familiar. For a moment I believed that this was an old lover of my colleague, but when looking closer it was not difficult to notice the facial similarities. 

Back in University, I had the opportunity to meet many people, like Stamford. I was always a sociable person I believe. At university I discovered many things, dangerous I must say. Like the inverts, as well as maybe being one of them. Things we did only with closed curtains and lights out. Literature students said it was like in Greek, an expression of love for someone you cared about. Many things happened, but we didn't talk about it. Kisses   
and caresses never getting to sodomy.  
I am still uncertain today about my natural or unnatural nature. I look for lovely ladies, to whom I could swear love and get married one day, as much as I looked at men.   
I had a friend, who I was fascinated by., His intelligence enchanted me, and i always wanted his company.  
He was the ugliest and queerest-looking man of our year. Physically he was a fine athlete, one of the fastest and most determined Rugby forwards that I have ever known. He was well-grown, five foot nine perhaps, with square shoulders, an arching chest, and a quick jerky way of walking. He had a round strong head, bristling with short wiry black hair. His face was wonderfully ugly, but it was the ugliness of character, which is as attractive as beauty. His jaw and eyebrows were scraggy and rough-hewn, his nose aggressive and red-shot, his eyes small and near set, light blue in colour, and capable of assuming a very genial and also an exceedingly vindictive expression. A slight wiry moustache covered his upper lip, and his teeth were yellow, strong, and overlapping. George Cullingworth was the greatest genius that I have ever known. [1]

I yearned shamefully for his company to go beyond simple friendship. But my respect for my friend was greater. I joined the army and he married a very young girl. It was scandalous, and our ties were severed.

In the army, things were more complicated. While some preferred the innocent village girls, others stayed in the company of other men in the group. Things we never talked about or mentioned again. 

I took a few days to absorb everything. I didn't comment and acted naturally with my friend, occasionally observing to capture his features and details of his face.   
One day he told me that he was leaving and that I didn't need to wait for his return. After seeing two patients in my clinic, I returned to our rooms. I read the newspaper and had afternoon tea with Mrs. Hudson. I ended up again taking the poster from my bedroom and going to the living room. With my pipe in my mouth, I stood in front of the window where the light was better. I spent long minutes looking at the poster and the drawing, considering what might be the story behind it and why Mr. Ronald gave it to me. It could have been very unwise, I might as well report my friend with just the poster, if I so desired. It reminded me of the papers I saw my colleague burning.   
Was Mr. Ronald a blackmailer? Did he need help? What did he want with Holmes? It was during a long minute of reflection with the poster that my colleague entered without me seeing him.   
He saw the paper in my hands, and his face went even paler. I folded it quickly and put it in my robe pocket.  
His approach was sudden and frightening. His voice was dark when he said  
"Watson, please give me the paper."  
"Holmes ... I'm sorry…"  
He intended to explain the situation and that he would do nothing against it.  
"The paper, please," he asked again. I felt bad for my meddling in his life. I picked it up and handed it over. He quickly opened it, then folded it back up and went to the fireplace to burn it.   
In reckless desperation, I grabbed his wrist.   
"No!"   
He looked angry, and tried to pull his hand away, but I held on tight. I would explain it to him.   
"It was given to me by your theater client, Mr. Ronald. I apologize for not telling you." My friend swallowed, and relaxed under my hand. His eyes were running fast over my face, probably trying to figure out what I would do or say, and what was feeling.   
"I will not go to the police. I you want to burn it is yours however," His lips were pressed together and his eyes were on mine. I felt a shiver.  
"Why?" Holmes spoke in a low tone.   
"I have nothing against you, my friend."  
"Aren't you offended?"  
"No. It's alright". It may have been imprudent and too precipitated, but I slid my hand from his wrist to hold his hand. I could not say for sure how it started, but we were close, and I held his hand, and suddenly I could feel him very close. We kissed I and my flatmate and newest colleague and friend. 

It was nothing but awkward kisses and caresses. Then we stopped, laughing. We went back to our chairs, and we smoked. Holmes decided to tell me the story of the poster.  
"After leaving university, I decided to try something different, and the theater was a good choice. It helped a lot mainly in my current job as a detective as you can see. I did not stay more than a year, working with Mr. Ronald and his colleagues. I took a chance on some pieces, like the one you see on the poster, and let myself be painted. Solving cases was more interesting however, I left the theater for the better option. 

“However, the theater I was in is not exactly a prestigious venue, nor is it considered a respectable place. Ronald and his colleagues were being threatened by some neighbors, so he came looking for me. I helped to find out who it was, then I judged that it was better just to leave. Ronald also came to inform me for security. I asked him not to come here, in case the neighbor blackmailer were following him. Unfortunately he was very reckless. As I didn't wish to go there, I asked you not to go too."  
"I'm very sorry for that," I said, asking for forgiveness.  
"What is done cannot be undone. I burned all the things I had from my time in the theater," he said, looking at the last poster from a past life.  
"Will you burn it? It's a beautiful portrait, I must say."  
– I could see him blush slightly at the compliment.  
"You can keep it with you if you wish, but keep it safe" 

Indeed, I kept the poster with my most dearly possessions. Our relationship hads definitely not changed much, we were still friends and colleagues. We remained carefull. We did not exceed limits, as much as I wanted it to go further. I allowed my dear companion to guide the relationship when he was comfortable with the touches and kisses, becoming more and more familiar with each other. 

[...]

My colleague and friend, always had a preference for the strangest and most varied cases. And I was very happy to have something different to solve.

I woke one morning to find Sherlock standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.  
There was a client waiting for us. [...]  
“My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything.” I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. [...]  
"My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself."   
I was more than happy to help my friend, and more and more to participate in his cases, which he always considered including me in. 

[...]

"Do you know, Watson,” said Holmes as we sat together in the gathering darkness, “I have really some scruples as to taking you to-night. There is a distinct element of danger.”  
“Can I be of assistance?” I said.  
“Your presence might be invaluable.”  
I was concerned that the case was more obscure than I imagined, and I almost reached out to touch his hand.  
“Then I shall certainly come.”  
“It is very kind of you.”  
“You speak of danger. You have evidently seen more in these rooms than was visible to me.”   
“No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a little more. I imagine that you saw all that I did.”   
“I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose that could answer I confess is more than I can imagine.”  
“You saw the ventilator, too?”  
“Yes, but I do not think that it is such a very unusual thing to have a small opening between two rooms. It was so small that a rat could hardly pass through.”

[...]

About nine o’clock the light among the trees was extinguished […] Two hours passed slowly away.I watched my friend in silence, looking out the window for the signal. He was focused.  
“That is our signal,” said Holmes, springing to his feet;   
[...] Making our way among the trees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about to enter through the window when out from a clump of laurel bushes there darted what seemed to be a hideous and distorted child, who threw itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and then ran swiftly across the lawn into the darkness.  
“My God!” I whispered. “Did you see it?”  
Holmes was for the moment as startled as I. His hand closed like a vice upon my wrist in his agitation. We looked into each other's eyes for a moment, for the fright, then he broke into a low laugh and put his lips to my ear.  
“It is a nice household,” he murmured. “That is the baboon.”  
I smiled in relief. I had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected. There was a cheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon our shoulders at any moment. I followed my friend, with him still holding my wrist.

After we finished explaining the real facts to the poor lady, Miss. Stoner,the police were called, and it was pronounced that the Dr. had died after playing with his dangerous pet. I promised Miss. Stoner that the events which occurred would remain confidential until her death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Part of Stark Munro's Letters, Doyle's description of his friend George (i really love this part)
> 
> I'm a bit obsessed with Holmes in a dress, I blame Tumblr because I thought it was a joke but it's canon apparently. I had a lot of time to think about how they would discover themselves and that's what came, sorry :v 
> 
> Ps: my interpretation of holmes and their sexuality, I believe he would be described as celibate (IDK) In other words, ace/gay (maybe aro). And I'm definitely not going to write anything Explicit, because it's AWKWARD :v  
> They relationship still developing, it is not a "romance" yet (bad english :p)

**Author's Note:**

> If you can tell me what you think, I'll be grateful.
> 
> I'll probably regret it later


End file.
